


Unlucky Bastard

by dont_panic



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Awkwardness, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-ish, Drinking to Cope, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, I don't know what I'm doing, My First Fanfic, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, cursing and potty mouths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4025287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dont_panic/pseuds/dont_panic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercer Trevelyan has gone from second-in-command of a mercenary company to a wanted criminal and now a religious icon. She does not approve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, first time writing for quite a while too. Constructive criticism is welcome!
> 
> I just noticed a bunch of stuff didn't transfer (italics and such) I'll fix it ASAP.

Waking up with a pounding headache was not a new experience. Hurting clear to her fingernails, however, was. As were the manacles. Today was just full of surprises. Mercer opened her eyes, not sure she wanted to find out what other surprises were waiting on this side of consciousness.

The sickly green light filling the room did nothing to reassure her. Blinking slowly, she tried to get her eyes to focus and immediately regretted it when she discovered the source of the light. Her left hand was glowing.

A door opened and slammed closed nearby, but she barely registered it through the utter terror that had taken over her brain. She screamed as the light in her hand grew brighter, sending pain radiating up her arm with each pulse. As quickly as it had started, it stopped, the pain fading away with the dimming light. Her scream dropped to a low moan as she slumped forward, cradling her arm. Through her ragged breathing she heard footsteps, sharp and measured. They stopped abruptly in front of her and she opened her eyes blearily.

Boots. They made a disgusted noise, which Mercer hardly thought polite, given her situation. Her brain had given up terror in favor of hysterical babbling and she was momentarily convinced that the boots would have answers for her. She stared at them a moment longer, eventually deciding that the owner of the boots would hardly be amused by her attempts to converse with their footwear.

Her suspicions were confirmed as she slowly sat up and met the scowling eyes of the dark-haired woman in front of her. Mercer’s eyes flicked to the symbol on the woman’s breastplate. Chantry. _Fuck_. What the void had she gotten into?

Mercer swallowed and took a breath, but the other woman spoke first, glaring down at her. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” As she spoke a second person stepped forward, regarding Mercer with calculating eyes. The dark-haired woman was an obvious threat, but the second woman- a redhead- looked at Mercer in a way that made her blood run cold.

The dark-haired woman spoke again, despair and anger making her voice tight. “The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” Mercer met the dark-haired woman’s eyes, shock and confusion written on her face.

“You think that I did it.” she said flatly. The woman grabbed Mercer’s wrist “Explain this!” she demanded, shaking the wrist before flinging it away from her.

“I...can’t.” Mercer knew the answer was unacceptable, but it was all she had.

Both women began circling her. “What do you mean you can’t?” Mercer grimaced, knowing that her next answer would be as unacceptable as the first. Whatever had happened was bad, and she was apparently the only suspect so far. “I don’t know what that is, or how it got there.”

The dark-haired woman snapped, face full of rage as she grabbed Mercer by the shoulders and shook her “You’re lying!” The redhead intervened, calmly drawing the other woman away. “We need her, Cassandra” she murmured quietly, turning to regard Mercer who was staring bleakly, shoulders slumped.

“I can’t believe it. All those people…” all her people “dead.” Her voice was a cracked whisper, the full weight of what had happened hitting her. _Mya, Keith, Daniel, Anna, **Lucan**. Maker, no._

The redhead studied her for a moment. “Do you remember what happened, how all this began?”

Mercer’s memories were jumbled, woolly, and nonsensical but she searched them desperately for anything. “I remember...running. Things were chasing me. And then..a woman.”

“A woman?” The redhead crossed her arms, eyebrows drawing together. Mercer ignored her, trying to grasp the memories before they became fuzzy and disappeared. “She reached out to me and then….” she trailed off then bit back a curse. The memories were gone.

The dark-haired woman -Cassandra- gestured toward the door. “Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” Leliana glanced at Mercer once more, gave Cassandra a short nod, and then left.

Cassandra turned back to Mercer, anger gone, and began unlocking the manacles. “What did happen?” Mercer asked softly, rising to her feet with help from the other woman.

Cassandra sighed, carefully binding Mercer’s wrists together with rope. “It...will be easier to show you.” She led Mercer from the room and into the light.

Mercer flinched from the light, her eyes adjusting to the brightness. She flinched again when she could see clearly, staring in horrified fascination at the swirling mass of energy that dominated the horizon. It pulsed with the same sickly green light that came from her hand.

“We call it the Breach. A massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Mercer tore her gaze away from the massive hole. “An explosion can do _that_?” Cassandra’s face was impassive. “This one did. Unless we act the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”  
Her reply cut off by a peal of thunder rolling across the sky, Mercer stared, transfixed, at the Breach for a split second before it began pulsing erratically, dropping her to her knees with a cry of pain as the mark on her hand followed suit.

Cassandra knelt in front of her, gesturing to the Breach. “Each time the Breach expands your mark spreads and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Mercer’s mind raced. She was still a suspect and helping was no guarantee of a pardon, or even a trial. If it were as bad as Cassandra said, she wouldn’t survive long enough to find out otherwise unless she helped. She exhaled sharply, giving Cassandra a quick nod. “I understand. I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.” Cassandra held her gaze a moment, then returned the nod, helping Mercer to her feet.

They passed through a crowd of people. Mercer was certain that Cassandra’s glare was all that stood between her and a lynch mob. Their rage, hate, and despair were all directed at Mercer and held at bay on the authority of the woman leading her.

Cassandra led her to a large gate in front of a bridge and once through came to a stop. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” She cut the bindings from Mercer’s wrists. “Come, it is not far.”

Following Cassandra across the bridge, Mercer mulled over her words as the woman explained the necessity of testing the mark on something smaller than the Breach itself. She periodically glanced at the Breach as Cassandra spoke. The damned thing made her head hurt.

Another pulse from the Breach caused Mercer to stumble, falling to her knees in pain. _This shit is getting old_. Cassandra helped her to her feet. “The pulses are coming faster now. They spawn more rifts which means more demons we must face.”

“How in the Maker’s name did I survive that?”

Cassandra looked at her strangely before replying “They say you..stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was behind you. No one knows who she was.” Another bridge was in sight. “Everything in the valley, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes, was destroyed. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.”

They had nearly crossed the second bridge when a piercing whine rent the air, accompanied by a green, glowing projectile hurtling toward them. It crashed into a group of soldiers just inside the final gate, collapsing the bridge and sending Mercer and Cassandra tumbling to the frozen river below.

Cassandra was on her feet in an instant, drawing her sword as she bolted toward a hissing green puddle on the ice several yards away. Still dazed, Mercer found her feet, scrambling backward as a second puddle began hissing just in front of her.

Casting around desperately, Mercer spotted a bow and just beyond that a quiver and arrows spilling from a broken crate. She murmured a fervent thank you to Andraste as she quickly gathered them, slinging the quiver over her shoulder and nocking an arrow just as the puddle formed into a shade.

Mercer loosed an arrow into the thing’s face, noting with a detached sense of surprise that Cassandra was also facing a shade. Several more arrows followed in quick succession, landing with satisfying _thunks_. The shade dissipated, melting away just as Cassandra finished her foe.

Seeing no more demons, Mercer sighed in relief. Relief was short lived, however, when Cassandra advanced on her, sword still drawn, and demanded that she drop the bow. Anger flashed through Mercer- did the woman mean to have her completely helpless? It wasn’t as if she could run away. Still, it would help nothing to antagonize the woman. Mercer sighed and carefully lowered the bow to the ground. “All right. Have it your way.”

Her ready agreement gave Cassandra pause. She sighed, sheathing her sword. “Wait. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect for you to be defenseless. I should remember that you agreed to come willingly.” Mercer nodded her thanks, retrieving the bow.

As Cassandra turned away Mercer glanced quickly over the mess of broken crates, grabbing a few more arrows and a cowl. _I may be a prisoner, I may be ass deep in whatever the void is going on. Also- demons. But at least my ears will be warm._ She caught up with Cassandra, falling quickly into step with her.

========================================================================

Mercer’s toasty-eared optimism did not last, fading a little more with each successive batch of demons they fought. There seemed to be no end to them. She grumbled to herself as she dispatched a wraith and slung her bow back over her shoulder. Pausing, she caught the faint sound of fighting ahead of them.

Cassandra heard it as well, gesturing urgently to Mercer as she increased her pace. “There’s more fighting closer to the rift. Hurry, we must help them.” Mercer bit back a question as she followed. She’d find out who it was soon enough.

The sounds of battle grew louder, steel crashing amidst the shriek of demons and the zip of magic being loosed. Cassandra barrelled past Mercer, sword and shield at the ready, and dove headlong into the battle as soon as it was in sight. Mercer hung back slightly, out of melee range and began firing arrows, feeling a grim joy as each found its mark.

The fighting ended quickly and Mercer jogged toward Cassandra, eyeing the crackling bundle of energy suspended over their heads. As she got closer she found her arm grabbed and thrust toward the light. Someone was shouting, but she couldn’t hear it over the sudden high pitched noise that filled the air. Pain burned through her arm as light shot from her hand, stretching toward the rift, twining into and around the edges in tendrils of energy.

With a sudden crash and a jerk of her arm, the rift was gone. Mercer yanked her arm back from the person holding it. “What did you do?!” Her voice sounded angry and panicky, even to her, but the elf that answered seemed unconcerned by her outburst. “ _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours.”

Mercer regarded her hand, holding it up to indicate the mark. “You mean this.” The elf nodded.

“Whatever made the Breach also placed the mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark could close the rifts. It seems I was correct.” He seemed quietly pleased with himself.

The elf gestured to Cassandra, wishing to speak to her. As they conversed Mercer found herself introduced to a dwarf with an impressive crossbow and an equally impressive amount of chest hair.

She cocked an eyebrow- “ _The_ Varric Tethras? Author?”

The dwarf grinned, pleased at having been recognized. Mercer shook her head, a slightly surprised “huh” escaping her lips. Today was weird.

Varric turned to Cassandra, who made no attempt to hide her dislike of the dwarf. As the two argued, the elf introduced himself. Solas was a mage, and -according to Varric, who stopped arguing with Cassandra long enough to impart the information- was the only reason the mark had not outright killed her while she’d been unconscious. Solas awkwardly accepted Mercer’s thanks, obviously unused to receiving gratitude.

Cassandra and Varric’s argument ended with a disgusted noise on her part, and a roguish wink on his. Mercer found herself warming slightly toward the dwarf. If nothing else he had a sense of humor and didn’t seem to have had anything to do with her imprisonment, both things she was rather in favor of. She smiled slightly at him as they continued forward.

========================================================================

The trek to the forward camp was a blur. It felt as though they’d been fighting demons for an eternity when they finally made it to the gate that led to the camp. Before they could pass through they had to deal with the rift that was spitting out yet more demons directly in their path.

Mercer growled, muttering under her breath about “more sodding demons” as she readied her bow. Varric snickered and followed suit.

The fight was quick and vicious, ending with Solas directing her to close the rift as she’d done before. Exhausted, they trudged through the gate, toward where they could hear Leliana arguing with someone. As the “someone” came into view Mercer groaned aloud.

“Oh,  _fuck_ this. I’m finding more demons.”

Cassandra looked at her, disapproval turning into sympathy. Leliana was in the midst of an argument with a rather puffed up, self-important looking cleric.

Chancellor Roderick, as he was introduced, made immediate demands for Mercer’s imprisonment and execution. She crossed her arms and stared him down, already not caring much for the man.

Thankfully Cassandra didn’t seem to care much for him either, flatly refusing his demands and ignoring much of what he said. They bickered back and forth, Cassandra determined to proceed to the Temple and the Chancellor finding every excuse as to why they shouldn’t.

The arguing began to wear at Mercer. Every moment spent bickering was time wasted and men lost. When Cassandra turned to ask her opinion, Mercer couldn’t help the irritation in her voice. Just a few hours ago she’d been in chains and now they suddenly wanted her input. No, her mark. They needed to keep her alive to use the mark.

Well, she appreciated having some say in her likely demise. It cheered her slightly.

She deliberated quickly. “We take the mountain pass. Use the soldiers as a distraction, but not for all-out attack. We should be able to minimize casualties. With luck we can find the scouts on the way.”

Cassandra nodded in agreement, directing Leliana and ignoring the Chancellor’s snide remarks about ‘consequences’. Mercer rolled her eyes as they passed the man. He thought himself important, but was obviously lost in military matters. Rather than helping he was spreading fear and dissent. She was not sorry to leave him behind, but had the sinking feeling that, should she survive this, she would be seeing him again. The thought was quite irritating.

========================================================================

Mercer had been trying to shut out everything save the task at hand, but seeing the ruins of the Temple and the charred remains of what had once been people, their faces now stretched into eternal screams of terror, felt like a punch in the gut. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, her hands shaking as she fought back the panic that threatened to overcome her. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to take a breath. Not now. If she survived, she’d find time later to fall apart. She caught Solas’ look of concern and gave a grim smile in return, then forced her attention back to the path, focusing on the rubble beneath her feet.

When they reached the Temple Mercer stared a moment in awe- the rift was massive. According to Solas it was closed, but not sealed. Mercer would have to use the mark to open it, then close it properly. Leliana’s people took up positions around the ruins, ready for the demons that would likely make an appearance once the rift was reopened.

As they descended into the ruin they encountered a strange form of lyrium. It was red and it...sang. Mercer had never seen it before, but it made her uneasy. Varric had encountered it before and was clearly distressed about its presence. No one knew how it could have gotten there.

Equally disturbing were the voices that came from nowhere, echoing throughout the ruins. Solas suggested that the deeper voice belonged to whomever had created the Breach, the Veil being thin enough here to allow memories to bleed through. Cassandra identified the other voice as belonging to Divine Justinia, crying out for help. A third voice- Mercer’s- answered.

Cassandra whirled on her, demanding answers that Mercer couldn’t give. She _still_  did not remember.

As they came to the bottom of the ruins images began appearing in the rift. Divine Justinia, held as a sacrifice, Mercer interrupting whatever ritual was being performed, a shadowed figure calling for Mercer’s death. Mercer could make sense of none of them, the memories stubbornly locked away somewhere in her brain.

For now, they had to deal with the Breach.

Despite Solas’ warnings, none of them were prepared for the massive pride demon that appeared when Mercer reopened the rift. _Maker’s balls_. Today kept finding new and inventive ways to make her life miserable.

If she hadn’t been fighting for the lives of everyone in Thedas, Mercer would have been rather impressed by the villainous laughter coming from the demon. As it was, she was getting annoyed with being laughed at while trying to turn the damned thing into a pincushion.

They discovered that by disrupting the rift she could momentarily disable whatever demons they were currently facing, leaving them vulnerable to whatever her allies could throw at them. She grinned fiercely as the demon fell to its knees. _Who’s laughing now, you bastard._

They were finally making headway, but she was fighting exhaustion as desperately as she fought the demon. Her muscles and lungs burned with fatigue as she loosed arrow after arrow, dodging the the demon’s electricity whip to duck close enough to the rift to disrupt it. Her allies were exhausted as well, but never faltered. She supposed if she was going to get stuck fighting demons with random people she’d met in jail she’d ended up with a good lot.

When the demon finally fell Mercer stumbled toward the rift, arm outstretched. She bit back a scream as light tore from her hand, twining around the edges of the rift, pulling it in on itself. The scream ripped free from her throat as she fell to her knees, pain burning through her as she fought to keep her arm aloft. As her vision darkened she jerked her arm back, snapping the rift closed.

Pain and exhaustion overtook her then. She fell forward, faintly seeing Cassandra’s boots as she lost consciousness. The boots still didn’t have answers for her.


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen was exhausted. His eyes felt gritty and it seemed that no amount of water would wash the dust and ash from his throat. He rolled his head back and exhaled slowly, trying to release some tension and avoid snapping at the exhausted looking scout who was attempting to relay a message from Sister Nightingale. The woman looked as rough as Cullen felt and he knew it would be hours yet before either of them got rest.

“Sit, Scout Elling.” He gestured to a chair and shoved a canteen at the startled looking woman. She blinked slowly, brain trying to catch up with the order. Cullen sympathized; he’d felt much the same when the harried scout had babbled out her message moments ago. Elling’s brain finally caught up and she sank gratefully into the chair and took the proffered canteen, managing a “Thank you, Commander.” after taking a long drink. Cullen nodded, giving the scout a moment before prompting her to continue with the message she’d been sent with. “Sister Nightingale asks that you oversee a guard rotation outside of the cabin that they’ve put The Herald in. There’s concern that people may try to get in. Either well-wishers and admirers or those that mean her harm.” At Cullen’s blank look she explained. “The woman that calmed the Breach, ser. Folks are calling her The Herald of Andraste, saying it was the Maker’s bride herself that was behind her when she came out of the Fade. Makes as much sense as anything else that’s happened, anyway. No one know’s who she is, so it’s as good a thing to call her as any I suppose.... “ Elling realized that she was babbling and trailed off, fidgeting with a roll of parchment.

“Sorry, ser.” Elling apologized sheepishly, handing the parchment to Cullen. “Everything else is in there, Commander.” She stood, holding the canteen out to Cullen, who shook his head. “Keep it, Scout Elling. Was there anything else?” The scout straightened, “No ser. Thank you for the drink and the breather, Commander.” Cullen looked up from the parchment and nodded “Quite welcome. Please inform Sister Nightingale that I’ll be taking the first guard shift so that my men can get some rest. I’ll have a list of names ready for her in an hour, you may pick it up from me at the cabin. Dismissed, Scout.” As the tent flaps swung closed Cullen exhaled slowly, planting his hands on his desk and letting his head drop. He hadn’t been expecting to rest any time soon, but he hadn’t been expecting to babysit a criminal with a religious following, either.

Groaning, he pushed himself up from the desk and began gathering reports, writing implements, and clean parchment, bundling them into a satchel that he slung over a shoulder after he’d donned his heavy cloak. Cullen stepped out into the swirling snow and began the walk to the cabin housing the woman who’d so recently been a wanted criminal. He spotted a runner and hailed the boy, who thankfully was between errands at the moment. “Please fetch me a plate of whatever the cooks can spare, and a pot of tea. Please also send for Knight-Captain Rylen, Lieutenant Metivier, and Sers Arford, Martin, Aslin, Dillard, Edwards, and Williams.”

The runner nodded and bolted like a rabbit as Cullen reached the cabin. Salutes were exchanged with the soldiers who’d been hurriedly assigned to guard the door for the time being. One of them held out a hand before Cullen could knock. “Private Allens, ser. Pardon me, but Apothecary Adan just entered, please let me announce you so you don’t catch him off guard.” They didn’t need the Apothecary giving the woman extra stitches or what have you. Cullen nodded, stepping back from the door. Private Allens knocked firmly, “Apothecary Adan, it’s Private Allens, Commander Cullen is entering!” They waited a moment, finally hearing a loud grunt of assent from the other side of the door. Cullen turned to the guards before he entered “I’ll need you two to stay here another half-hour or so, then you’ll be dismissed. A runner will be coming by with food for me, and I’ve sent for Knight-Captain Rylen and some others. Alert me if anyone else comes.”

The heat in the cabin was oppressive and Cullen grimaced as he hung his cloak on a peg. Why did it need to be so bloody hot in here? He found an empty table and set his satchel down then made his way to the apothecary’s side. Adan barely looked at him, sparing a terse nod before returning to his charge. The woman in question was buried to her chin in blankets, sweat beading her brow, but was shivering so hard her teeth were chattering. That explained the stuffy heat in the room then.

As Adan poked and prodded the unconscious woman Cullen studied her, curious about this prisoner turned savior. Currently she was filthy, her face streaked with blood, dirt, and sweat. A large split cut through one side of her bottom lip and partway down her chin; a bruise covered one eye and the cheek below, a cut running through the eyebrow above. Her hair was partially shaved on both sides of her head, showing a long, shallow laceration that started at her temple and ended somewhere in her hair, the area matted with blood. She certainly looked like she’d put up a fair fight in whatever she’d been through.

The door swung open, startling Cullen who muttered a curse about Allens’ inability to follow orders. Adan seemed to have anticipated the intrusion however, immediately issuing orders to the young elven woman that had come in. “Nahris, bring that bundle here. Kettle should be ready, bring it, too. Commander, I’ll need you to step aside or help, your choice.” Cullen was taken aback by the sudden bustle of activity, but knew better than to get in the way. “I’ll step aside, but if you need my assistance-” He was cut off by a grunt and shooing motion from the apothecary and took his cue to move. Nahris began washing the Herald’s face as Adan pulled various salves and bandages from the bundle, grumbling as he worked.

Cullen pulled a chair to the table he’d claimed as a desk and began composing a note to Leliana concerning the guard rotation, the sounds of the apothecary and his assistant fading into the background. He was halfway done when a knock sounded at the door, followed by Private Allens announcing the runner with Cullen’s food. He met the runner in the small entryway and took the tray of food, setting it on a table nearby while they spoke.

“I was able to find all but three of the people you sent for, Commander. Ser Arford is among the wounded, seriously injured but expected to recover. Ser Aslin and Lieutenant Metivier are presumed to be deceased, ser.” Cullen sighed, knowing that it was too much to hope that they’d survived. They were fine soldiers and would be missed. He dismissed the runner and was closing the door when Knight-Captain Rylen, followed by the others he’d sent for, came into view. He dismissed Private Allens and the other guard, sending them off for food and sleep. He ushered the others into the entryway, pitching his voice low so as to not disturb Adan and Nahris.

 

“Sister Nightingale has requested a constant watch on the...Herald.” He had nothing else to call her, so ‘Herald’ would have to do for now, strange as it seemed. “I trust the five of you to understand the importance of discretion in this matter. Knight-Captain Rylen, Ser Arford is wounded and Ser Aslin and Lieutenant Metivier presumed deceased, do you have suggestions for suitable replacements?”

Rylen thought a moment. “Captain Briggs, Sergeant Jennings, and Lieutenant Emerson. Solid soldiers, loyal, and all three owe their lives to the Herald. None of them will see a hair on her head harmed, intentional or otherwise, ser.” Cullen was skeptical. This woman had been thrown in chains on suspicion of murdering the Divine and everyone else at the Conclave. True, she’d calmed the Breach, but she likely had no other options. He said as much, wondering aloud how she could gain such loyalty so soon after all that had happened. Ser Martin spoke up “I don’t know if Andraste sent her, Commander, but I saw her fight. She tore into the demons like a wildcat, throwing herself between them and the wounded. She saved a good many lives, and I saw her close one of those rifts myself. She calmed the Breach. You know how many thought that the last thing they’d see on the Maker’s green earth was a demon. Sure, there’s a few that might still take issue, think that she had something to do with the Conclave, but a good many more thank her for saving their lives.”

Cullen caught the nods from the rest of the men. None of them were prone to exaggeration, if they said that the so-called Herald of Andraste had been honorable and saved lives, he believed them. Whether or not he believed she was Maker-sent was another story. He returned their nods. “As you say then. Knight-Captain, pass along the message to your back ups. For the time being we will have four six hour shifts. That will change as we get more information and hopefully find suitable replacements to allow for shorter shifts.”

The meeting concluded quickly and Cullen had just enough time to finish the report for Leliana before Scout Elling came to retrieve it. Once he had delivered it to the scout, he retreated to his borrowed desk, intent on finally eating and tackling the remainder of the reports. He sighed inwardly as he saw Adan approaching as he sat. Maker, could he have five minutes for a bite of bread and a sip of tea? The apothecary was grumbling to himself as he rewound unused bandages and Cullen waited with as much patience as he could muster while the man finished. He finally looked up and acknowledged Cullen with a short nod.

“How is the patient?” Adan scowled slightly as he answered “Provided she wakes up, she’ll live. That apostate, Solas, says there’s nothing wrong with her magically or what-have-you. So it’s just the physical, and I can tend that. We’re short on potions and I’d like to use what we have on those worse off, so she’ll have to do with bandages and salves. If she needs them we’ll use them though.” Cullen nodded. “Any guess as to how long until she wakes?” Adan sighed and shook his head. “None. Who knows exactly what she’s been through. Was she actually in the Fade? What would that do to a person?” He fell silent, a small shudder running through him. “In any case, we have two, three days before there’s a real concern. Myself or Nahris will be by regularly to check on her and we’ll keep you posted. Now if you’ll excuse us Commander, we have a long night ahead of us.” He stopped as Cullen held out a hand “Before you go- is there anything you need help with? Herbs gathered?” The apothecary was thoughtful. “Herbs, yes. Mostly elfroot, but anything would be useful. Bandages, too. If you have anyone you can spare to help with laundry.”

“I’ll send men first thing in the morning. I’ll be here the next few hours, is there anything I should watch for in the patient while I’m here?” The last thing Cullen needed was for something to befall the unconscious Herald on his watch.

“Send for me if her fever returns. Or if she wakes, obviously. Or if she thrashes around enough to reopen any of her wounds. I expect she’ll stay out at least until tomorrow though. Good evening, Commander.” Adan gestured for Nahris to follow him and they left, leaving Cullen with the opportunity to eat finally. Grateful that he had an appetite and no headache for the time being, he poured himself some now lukewarm tea and piled some meat on bread so he could eat one-handed and still read reports.

Some time later, food gone and reports mostly finished, Cullen leaned back from the table and stretched. He’d reread the last report three times and still couldn’t make sense of it, so he opted for a break. He grimaced at the popping noises coming from his joints as he stood, trying to shake some of the tightness from his limbs. The fire had burned down somewhat, so it was no longer disgustingly warm in the cabin, but he stoked it a little to keep the temperature from dropping too much, unsure exactly what would be comfortable for the occupant.

Cullen strolled around the room twice, stretching and idly looking at the contents of the shelves. Curiosity eventually got the better of him and he found himself standing next to the Herald’s bed, studying her resting form. As frustrating as it was not knowing anything about her, he was sure Leliana was gathering every scrap of information she could find. They would soon have some idea of who she was and what she was doing here.

With the dirt and blood gone her skin was a warm brown and he could see her fine, sharp features and high cheekbones. Cullen wondered if she might be Rivaini. She had a scar across the bridge of her nose, which looked as if it had been broken at some point. The scar ran under an eye and disappeared somewhere past her temple, he couldn’t tell from where he was standing. There appeared to be a few beads woven into her thick black hair and for some reason he found himself wanting to toy with them.

She had moved at some point and the blankets had shifted down, slightly exposing her collarbones and shoulders, dotted with bruises and a few freckles. He stood there a moment, then realized he was staring and shook himself. Maker! What am I doing? This woman was the Herald, a stranger, and unconscious, and his behavior was entirely unacceptable. He turned to leave, disgusted with himself, when he saw her lips move. Startled, he turned back, watching her mouth closely. He had almost convinced himself that he’d imagined it when her lips moved again and she whispered something so quietly that Cullen couldn’t make out the words.

Her brow furrowed as she muttered again, somewhat louder. Cullen could just make out what she was saying, something about “the grey”. Her lips continued moving and she grew agitated, but he couldn’t make out any other words. Without warning she bolted upright, eyes flying open as she cried out a hoarse “NO!”

Cullen jumped, heart pounding, but she didn’t move again. He was just getting ready to speak to her when he found himself looking straight into her eyes, which were open but unfocused. He felt his hair standing on end as he tried to figure out why everything felt so wrong. Suddenly she snarled. teeth flashing as she brought her hands up as if she intended to strike. Cullen jerked back, hand flying to the dagger on his belt, but she made no further move. He slowly dropped his hand as realization dawned on him. _Night terror_ s. He remembered some of the older Templars waking the barracks with them, and the creeping sensation of dread one got looking into their open but unseeing eyes. He wracked his brain, trying to remember the method for dealing with them. Waking the sleeping person wasn’t advised unless they were hurting themselves or someone else, which she was not.

The vicious look left her face as her hands fell to her sides, gripping the blankets at her waist. A look of pure anguish replaced the rage as she whimpered wordlessly. Cullen’s heart clenched unexpectedly as a sob tore from her throat and he found himself reaching to comfort her, hand stopping just above her bare arm. Heat radiated from her and he pulled his hand back as if burned, realizing what he’d nearly done. Instead he began murmuring to her softly; soothing, nonsense words in an attempt to calm her in whatever nightmare she’d found herself in. Gradually she calmed, trembling gone as she laid back down with a soft sigh, eyes drifting closed again.

Cullen’s words trailed off into tuneless humming until her breathing evened and she lay still once more. He stood from where he’d dropped to a knee, casting around for something to dab the blood that had welled on her lip when the cut had reopened. Eventually he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly cleaned away the blood, careful to keep his fingers from brushing her skin. He was painfully aware of her breath ghosting over his fingers as he worked and he gritted his teeth in frustration at allowing himself to be distracted.

He finished and sat back, watching her face a moment before realizing that the blankets were still near her hips from when she’d sat up, and aside from the bandages wrapped around her ribs, was clad only in a breast band and trousers. Cullen swallowed, face suddenly flaming hot as he averted his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to grab the blankets without looking in the direction of the Herald. Realizing that his blind flailing was less likely to accomplish anything than it was to end in with inappropriate physical contact he turned back, eyes firmly on the safe expanse of coarse grey blanket. Her breath hitched and his eyes flew to her face, alert for any sign of another night terror, but her face remained calm. He sighed gratefully and tucked the blankets carefully under her chin.

Cullen smiled at her small sigh as she settled into the blankets, face serene despite her numerous wounds. He firmly put any thought of her wounds out of his mind. That would lead to thoughts of the other wounds he’d seen, and the areas that they’d been in….He mentally slapped himself for his train of thought, turned on his heel, and went to the table to gather his things. He chastised himself as he packed, he had no business thinking of anyone in that manner, much less the Herald of Andraste, whether he believed she was or not. He sighed, exhausted and ashamed of his thoughts. The first watch would be there soon and he could attempt to rest his addled brain.

Everything gathered, he stoked the fire and had just blown out the last candle when his relief announced itself with a knock on the door. He glanced back at the Herald’s sleeping form, then headed out into the blowing snow. Cullen deposited his tray with a nearby runner and trudged to his tent, feeling dead on his feet. After fumbling the ties open he stumbled gratefully in out of the wind, pausing to drop the satchel on his desk before wrestling his armor and boots off and collapsing onto his cot. He quickly fell into a sleep blessedly free from nightmares, only occasional flashes of fierce gold eyes and warm brown skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Mercer woke up groggy and confused. There was too much light. Had she overslept? She didn’t remember asking Brogin for a day off. _Brogin. Fuck._ Everything came rushing back and she looked around in a panic. She was not in her quarters at the compound, and it hadn’t been a nightmare brought on by a night of drinking Lucan’s awful concoctions. Sitting up with a soft moan, she cradled her head, then jumped and cursed at the startled gasp and crash that came from the other side of the room. Her eyes fell on the form of a young elf, prone on the floor in a deep bow and babbling apologies at her. _Balls_. She was not awake enough for this.

She sighed, and tried to calm the young woman, who seemed caught between awe and terror- feelings she tried to foster in new recruits, not so much in random strangers. Mercer was eventually able to get a bit of information before the terrified elf bolted to inform Cassandra that she was awake, scurrying away as if she were afraid Mercer was going to eat her.

Evidently Mercer had been out for three days, which explained why she was so blasted hungry. In that three days the Breach had been stable, but was not closed. She frowned, the failure needling her. Cassandra wanted to see her as soon as possible, but the young woman hadn’t told her why. Probably to chew her out for failing to hold up her end of their bargain.

“Well, I didn’t wake up in chains again, so I guess it makes for a good day.”Her voice was hoarse with disuse, sounding strange to her ears. Mercer stood, grimacing as her muscles protested the slightest movement. “Maybe just an ok day.” She stretched slowly, her breath hissing between her teeth as she tried to loosen limbs that were stiff from hours of fighting followed by three days of sleep. A movement flicked in the corner of her eye, and she turned to catch her reflection in a nearby mirror. “Maker. I look like I’ve been used for a practice dummy. No wonder I hurt so damned much.” It appeared she’d have at least one new scar to add to the collection, this one through her bottom lip and down her chin. A cut on her eyebrow appeared to be healing fairly well, and the large bruise covering that eye and cheek had faded to a patch of mottled yellows and blues. She grinned, wincing as she did so. Her face wasn’t winning any prizes anyway, may as well embrace it.

Mercer ran fingers through her hair, combing it out roughly, then turned to see if any of her belongings had made it. She brightened when she spotted her clothing neatly folded on a chair. Whatever weird..pajama things she’d been put into were hardly practical for her needs. Mercer frowned as she held up her trousers, which were now more hole than clothing. Her shirt had fared a bit better, but was still fairly tattered. She shrugged and peeled the beige shirt off, difficult due to how bloody tight it was and trying not to jostle her ribs too much. She was trembling and out of breath by the time she got the damned thing off, thoroughly angry at having nearly been bested by an article of clothing while sober.

She sighed as she buttoned the last of her comfortable shirt. It was loose and had been washed so many times it was soft and faded, now a blueish grey rather than its original color, which she couldn’t remember. She traded out the too soft shoes for her sturdy boots and threw on her beat up but warm coat. Mercer took a breath, preparing to step outside and face the angry mob without Cassandra’s protection. Hopefully she could get information about her men while she was talking to the Seeker.

Mercer stepped outside and froze, blinking slowly. The mob was there, but they were less….mob-like than the last time she’d encountered them. People lined the pathways and soldiers stood at attention, saluting. Civilians whispered to each other and everyone was staring at her with something akin to worship.

Ok. Maybe this was, in fact, a dream. An elaborate and terrifying one brought on by a night of heavy drinking with Lucan.

She nervously shoved her hands into her pockets, plastered a pleasantly neutral look on her face, and started toward the chantry, desperately grateful that it was easy to find. _Don’t run. Just walk, nice and calm. You’re getting closer. Almost there. Don’t make_   _e_ _ye contact! There, the doo_ r! She made herself open the doors slowly, though she wanted nothing more than to fling them open and bolt inside like a frightened rabbit.

Her breathing calmed somewhat as she stood a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She felt better, but only because she was no longer being stared at by hundreds of people. Despite being a devout Andrastian, she never felt comfortable in chantries. They were too full of chantry folk and their politics. She felt even less comfortable as she approached the room where Cassandra was and heard raised voices, angrily discussing her. Mercer recognized Chancellor Roderick’s voice and groaned. Now she knew this was real. Even her dreams couldn’t be so cruel.

She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but knowing what she was walking into was too helpful not to, so she lingered outside the door a moment longer, hoping for some insight. She’d been so certain that Cassandra was planning on chewing her out for not actually closing the Breach that she was shocked to hear the Seeker defending her. That certainly made this a much less terrifying prospect. From what she’d seen, the woman had a will of steel and would be invaluable to have in her corner.

Mercer took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. She’d planned on a polite greeting, but was cut off by Chancellor Roderick calling for her imprisonment. Again. Maker, was the man incapable of anything but complaining and making threats he couldn’t back up? Cassandra scowled at the man and overrode his shrill demands, dismissing the Templars that had been standing guard just inside the doorway.

Nodding her thanks, Mercer stood at parade rest in front of a large table and listened as Roderick and Cassandra argued back and forth. The Chancellor was convinced that the failure to close the Breach was part of an elaborate plot on her part, and she found herself gritting her teeth with every word that came out of his mouth. He’d been too busy scurrying like a terrified mouse to be of any use, he had no place talking about the failures of others.  
She was grateful for Leliana and Cassandras defense until ‘Divine Providence’ was mentioned. Mercer’s stomach knotted as Cassandra spoke of her being sent by the Maker, and nothing she said would dissuade the woman. _This is bad._ Her hands clenched into fists behind her back as she fought down the rising panic, breathing slowly through her nose and trying to focus on the conversation in front of her.

The Breach was still a threat and the mark on her hand the only means so far that they had of closing it, meaning she wouldn’t be going anywhere. She had to find out about her men and get word back to Brogin, but she knew she was needed here. With any luck this would be over soon and she could be back to the Marches before too long.

She was startled from her thoughts by Roderick huffing petulantly on his way out, looking like he’d eaten something unpleasant, though she suspected he always looked like that. Cassandra and Leliana were studying a heavy tome on the table between them, a writ from the late Divine Justinia giving the Left and Right Hands of the Divine authority to act and rebuild the Inquisition.

After that, Mercer gave up trying to make sense of things. She’d been imprisoned, then assisted by the Hands of the Divine; there was a hole in the sky, she was being asked to help rebuild the bloody Inquisition, and she was glowing. That was the short version. She shook Cassandra’s hand and sealed her fate, still not entirely sure she was in her right mind.

As they were concluding the meeting, there was finally an opportunity to ask about her men.. “Pardon me, but before we leave I have to ask if anyone has heard anything from any members of Brogin’s Bastards?” The other women looked at her strangely, Leliana shaking her head slowly. “No, I do not recall hearing the name before. Are they a mercenary company?” Mercer nodded, dread creeping into her chest. She tried not to let it show on her face. “I will see what my people can find, but it may take a while. We’re still taking stock of the missing and wounded.” Leliana was studying her closely as she spoke. _Fuckfuckfuck_. Mercer’s brain was babbling as she bowed stiffly, thanking them woodenly before excusing herself to find something to eat. She would have liked a drink as well, but was expected back at the war room soon to meet with the other advisors. They probably wouldn’t appreciate her showing up drunk.

Walking slowly, she made her way to the kitchens and was able to procure an apple and a piece of bread with cheese. She found a bench nearby and sat, staring blankly ahead as she ate. The food should have been delicious, but she didn’t taste anything. Maybe they were still alive, even some of them. She couldn’t remember who had come into the Temple with her. There was a chance that some of them had been back at camp. Maybe all of them, if she’d ordered them back to wait when they’d finished whatever it was they’d been doing. She felt helpless, which made her angrier than she already was. She was angry that she couldn’t remember anything, that all this weird shit was going on,and that she couldn’t find any of the people that she was responsible for.

Scowling despite the pain it caused, she stood and began walking back to the chantry. She sighed and carefully scrubbed a hand across her face. Eventually she would find out what had happened; all the worrying in the world wouldn’t change anything now. Maybe someday she’d believe that.

She was lost in thought as she munched the apple while wandering back to the chantry and managed to plow directly into something solid and heavily armored. Yelping in surprise she dropped her apple, seeing several rolls of parchment fall from the other person’s hands at the same time. Apologies were blurted out simultaneously as they both bent to grab the parchments, leading Mercer to headbutt the victim of her inattention. “Maker’s balls, I’m sorry! Are you ok? Please stay there, I’ll pick everything up!” She hurriedly scooped up the parchments, standing to offer them back to their owner with an apologetic smile. She found herself looking up into a pair of deep brown eyes that regarded her with a mix of annoyance and amusement. The man looked at her, eyes widening, and she stepped back, afraid she’d made some mistake beyond running into him. He didn’t look angry, thankfully, but he was looking at her oddly while rubbing his forehead absentmindedly. Mercer winced “I’m terribly sorry. Are you ok, ser?”

He looked startled when she spoke, but nodded. “Fine. My head is fairly hard, thankfully. Are you ok?” Mercer grinned, thankful that the man seemed reasonable. “Quite honestly ser, I was so busy being mortified that I hadn’t given it much thought. I’m sure I’m fine though, thank you for asking.” He was still looking at her oddly, and she shifted slightly, then gestured to her face “I promise that these were already here, you can’t do much more damage to my face than I’ve already managed.” That drew a laugh from him, and she relaxed. “Well then, as neither of us seem to be mortally wounded, I suppose it’s safe to part ways.” He stepped sideways, gesturing widely to allow her to pass. Mercer laughed and walked past, giving him an exaggerated amount of space.

She made it back to the chantry without further incident and opted to dawdle a bit before heading in.There was an empty area to the side of the building that was perfect for a bit of quiet thought, and she wasn’t really looking forward to going back into the gloomy place. She wracked her brain; the man’s voice had been familiar, but she couldn’t place it, and trying to figure it out was driving her mad. Eventually she sighed, gave up and headed inside; it was just one more weird thing she couldn’t remember or explain.

Mercer had just opened the war room door when she heard a crash and a familiar voice, this time one she could place in an instant, calling her. “Trev! Mercer Fucking Trevelyan!” She turned, grinning like an idiot as she loosed an oath and let the door slam.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen rubbed his neck and exhaled sharply, feeling like he’d been kicked by a horse. He’d heard that the Herald was awake, but hadn’t expected to see her, much less nearly knock her over in his inattention.Of course he then had to stare like an idiot and make her think it was her fault when he’d been the one reading reports instead of watching where he was walking. _Maker’s breath. What is wrong with me_? He knew what was wrong, he’d been taken off guard, and still felt guilty about his inappropriate thoughts when he’d been guarding her. _And ever since_.

And now he had to go meet with the war council, which included the Herald, and pretend that he hadn’t dreamed of her, wondered what her voice sounded like and what it would feel like to look into her eyes. Infatuation based on his physical reaction to her; nothing to do with her personality, which could be horrid for all he knew, though he suspected from his brief interaction with her after he’d practically assaulted her that she had a rather nice personality.

He groaned and continued to his tent to drop off reports before the meeting. It would be fine. He was nothing if not professional, and as soon as he was able to sleep decently and get a hold on the withdrawal symptoms, he would be fine too. Maker knows the headaches and nightmares weren’t helping anything. He dropped the reports on his desk with a sigh and made his way to the chantry. They had much to go over and not enough information. Between Leliana and Josephine they should have more information about the Herald’s identity, which was at least a start.

Everyone save the Herald was already at the war table when he entered and Josephine immediately launched into information about her, presumably to get through it before the Herald herself entered. “Lady Mercer Igraith Cordelia Trevelyan, youngest child of House Trevelyan in Ostwick. A minor, but well respected noble family.” Cullen was taken aback; the Herald seemed nothing like the nobles he had experience with. Any of those nobles would have demanded his head if he’d run into them, accidental or otherwise. Noble women didn’t tend to have large, noticeable scars and broken noses, either.

Josephine continued “According to my sources she left to serve the Chantry at 16, earlier than is customary, due to her very devout nature. That...is all I can find. She is said to have been serving a very small chantry somewhere in the Free Marches, and led a wholly unremarkable life aside from her work for the Maker.” Leliana looked as skeptical as Cullen felt. “I do not believe that is the entire story, though my people have so far been unable to get more information than that. She asked about a mercenary company, Brogin’s Bastards, earlier today and looked quite upset when I told her that we had no information about them.”

The door opened and Cullen bit off what he’d been about to say as everyone waited, sharing similar slightly guilty looks. They waited expectantly, but the door didn’t open further. Instead they heard shouting. Cullen grasped his sword and headed to the door, wondering frantically who would dare attack the Herald in the chantry. As he reached the door he stopped and his jaw dropped as the Herald began shouting as well. “Maferath’s sweaty fucking testicles! Lucan!” The door slammed in Cullen’s face and he stood, staring a moment before he turned back to the other advisors, all looking as shocked as he did. His mouth worked a moment before he turned slightly and thrust a finger toward the door. “I don’t think _that_ is a noble or a Chantry Sister!”

A moment later Cullen and Cassandra left the war room to find the Herald. She was across the chantry, deep in conversation with a dwarf. She noticed them approaching and put a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder, cutting the conversation short as he and Cassandra drew close. “I’m sorry, Seeker Pentaghast. I had not intended to be late to the meeting.” She scrubbed a hand across her face, wincing as she came into contact with the cuts and bruises. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I...would it be ok if my friend joined us briefly? Not for the entire meeting of course, but he has information that may be of use and...I suppose you’d like some more information about me.” She glanced between Cassandra and Cullen, eyes widening slightly as she recognized him. He nodded slightly in acknowledgment then turned to regard Cassandra. The Seeker looked thoughtful, finally nodding her head. “If you have information that will benefit the Inquisition, please, join us.”

====================================================================================

Mercer squeezed Lucan’s shoulder before turning to follow Seeker Pentaghast and the tall, blonde man who’d come out with her. He was obviously important, so of course she would have plowed directly into him. She looked down as Lucan nudged her, gratefully taking the flask that he offered her; she thought she’d needed a drink earlier, now she really needed one. They passed by the blonde man as she handed the flask back to Lucan, not really able to give a damn right now who saw her drinking in the middle of the day.

She and Lucan stood next to each other at parade rest, waiting for the others to get settled. The advisors were introduced- she already knew Cassandra and Leliana, but not that Leliana was the Spymaster. That explained some things.The tiny, frilly woman was Ambassador Montilyet; the tall, blonde man was Commander Cullen. Commander of the Inquisition, that’s who she’d run into. Balls. Thank the Maker the man had a sense of humor and hadn’t thrown her in the stocks.

Their eyes turned to her and Lucan, ready to find out who they were and what information they had. Mercer took a breath to steady herself and straightened; her voice was rough, but steady when she spoke. “Agents of the Inquisition, I am Lieutenant Mercer Trevelyan, second in command of the mercenary company Brogin’s Bastards. This is Sergeant Lucan Velg. Our company was hired to escort a carriage of notable persons to the Conclave. We, along with a squad of fifteen men, were sent to carry out the contract.” She breathed slowly, willing herself to speak steadily. Lucan gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and she continued. “Sergeant Velg informs me that all fifteen men appear to have been lost in the explosion. I- I need to get word to the Captain, as well as arrange transport for the personal effects of my men.”

Rubbing her neck, she continued. “Since we will...not be returning to the ‘Marches, I can offer to sell the Inquisition what gear won’t be sent back. I’m not authorized to donate it, but the Captain would be amenable to selling the items that would be difficult to ship. If you’re interested, of course. Sergeant Velg will be staying here for a time. If you’ve use for him he’s experienced with training recruits and one of the best scouts the Bastards have. He’ll be needing to return to the compound eventually, though.” She nudged Lucan, who took the hint and passed the flask to her. She took a quick pull, waiting for the others to respond.

Commander Cullen spoke first, sympathy plain on his face. “I am sorry for the loss your men, Lieutenant. It..is never easy.” He hung his head a moment before meeting her eyes “As soon as you’ve word ready we will see it sent to your Captain.” Leliana nodded in agreement. “Ambassador Montilyet and Quartermaster Threnn will see to the shipping and purchase of gear. Myself or Sister Leliana will gladly find use for Sergeant Velg. We will find quarters for him as well.”

Mercer inclined her head. “Thank you, Commander. I believe our tents are still here, Sergeant Velg and I can share one of them. No need to find quarters.” Ambassador Montilyet shook her head “My Lady Herald, the cabin that you are in is meant to be your quarters, as is befitting your station.” Mercer stared at her blankly. “Herald? I...I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked at around the room, confused. “Ah...There are those calling you the Herald of Andraste. The Chantry has...denounced you, and us for harboring you.” The Ambassador seemed almost apologetic as she explained. Mercer shook her head, feeling slightly panicked. “Just how am I the Herald of Andraste?!” She looked at Lucan, who shook his head, just as confused as she was.

Cassandra spoke up “People saw what you did at the Temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

Leliana nodded “Even if we tried to stop the rumor-”  
“Which we have not.” Leliana looked exasperated at Cassandra’s interruption, but took a breath and continued. “The point is, everyone is talking about you.”

Mercer’s mouth went dry. No one had said anything about blasphemy when she’d signed up. Who in their right mind would mistake her for a religious icon? The Commander’s voice shook her from her thoughts. “That’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” Mercer stared at him. How did she feel about it? She felt like she’d been signed up for the worst contract of her life, written up by a bunch of desperate lunatics who felt the need to piss off the most powerful institution in Thedas. She met his intense gaze “It’s...disconcerting.” Unexpectedly, he laughed. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree with you.”

Lucan snorted “Aye, in the ‘likely to send assassins’ sort of way.” Mercer’s lips twitched slightly. “Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine, Sergeant.” The dwarf nodded “It’s why you keep me around, Lieutenant. That an’ being pretty”  
“You are that, Sergeant.” “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

The others stared at them strangely. After a moment Lucan cleared his throat “Well, if you’ve no further use for me at the moment, I’ll excuse myself to see to moving the Lieutenant’s things.” The Ambassador shook her head. “Really, the cabin is much more suited for your position and title; the Herald can hardly sleep in a tent like the rank and file.” Lucan coughed, hiding a grin behind his hand as Mercer shot him a glare. “Ambassador Montilyet, I’m sure that the cabin can be of much more use to house the wounded, those with families, or visiting dignitaries. I do not require, nor desire a cabin and assure you that I will be more than fine in a tent.” Mercer was polite, but firm in her insistence and the Ambassador eventually relented with a sigh and wrote a quick note for the guards. Lucan gave her a wink as he left.

As the door closed Mercer turned back to the others. “Well, I imagine you’ve been trying to gather information on me.” Leliana nodded, arms crossed in front of her chest as she watched Mercer closely.. Mercer took a breath and began, grateful that after so many years it felt more like giving a report than recounting her past. “The information you’ve been able to gather is the ‘joined the Chantry at 16’ bit, yes?.” She shifted slightly, staring at some spot on the wall above the Commander’s head. “When I was a child my father arranged a marriage to Lord Alexander Pendry. My older brothers eventually learned that he was an abusive asshole and tried to talk our father out of the contract. Bann Trevelyan was not interested in losing the alliance and refused. My brothers, with some financial backing from our older sister, helped me leave Ostwick. I wound up working in some run-down little tavern until I got recruited by Captain Brogin. Bann Trevelyan couldn’t lose face, so he informed Lord Pendry’s family that I’d begged him to serve the Chantry, and he, being the devout and loving father that he was, could hardly refuse me. That’s about it.” She shrugged, still focused on the wall, and waited for the questions.

“Your Captain allowed you to join, even being a noble?” The Ambassador was aghast. “Bann Trevelyan disowned me immediately after discovering that I’d left and had no intentions of returning. I haven’t had claim to the Trevelyan name for thirteen years.” Ambassador Montilyet tapped her quill on her writing board as she thought. “Didn’t Bann Trevelyan pass away some time ago? The heir could have revoked the order.” Mercer shrugged again “He did pass away, yes. I had no interest in regaining the title as it would have interfered with my career. It would also have caused complications for Marius, my eldest brother, when he took over the estate. If Lord Pendry ever discovered that I hadn’t joined the Chantry and I was still a Trevelyan, he could have sought to have my brother uphold the contract. As it is, if he finds out there’s very little he would be able to do, if he were inclined to at all.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes slightly, “How is it that in thirteen years the Pendry’s haven’t found out?” Mercer knew that the unspoken question was why Leliana herself couldn’t find other information. “Bann Trevelyan made very generous donations to the chantry that I was supposedly serving. The Pendrys were upset with the loss of the alliance, but Alexander Pendry hadn’t been thrilled with the thought of marrying me anyway. I was “lucky” that anyone would have me at any price. I doubt that he looked too hard into the matter. Simply put, I was too unimportant for anyone to bother to find out anything different.”

“How did a noble’s daughter come by the skills necessary to join a mercenary company?” For some reason the Commander’s voice compelled her to meet his eyes when he spoke. There was no suspicion or revulsion. just genuine curiosity. “Archery is considered an acceptable hobby for noblewomen. I happened to be very good at it, and the armsmaster that taught my brothers thought that I may have some talent for other things. I was more than eager to learn, and he obliged when the three of us swore not to let our father find out.” Mercer felt herself smile a bit at the memory. “He couldn’t teach me sword fighting, and I had no talent for it, but I spent years learning knife fighting. No one expects a noble of any sort to know that kind of fighting, much less a young noblewoman.” She grinned. “It’s not elegant or pretty, like bards with their fancy daggers, but it gets the job done.” She was surprised when the Commander returned her grin with a nod.

The advisors seemed content with the information that she’d provided, so the meeting moved to discuss the business of closing the Breach. Solas believed it could be closed, but the mark on her hand would need more power. Either the rebel mages or the Templars could theoretically provide that power, but there was disagreement as to which group would be better suited. There was also the small problem of neither group acknowledging the Inquisition and thus refusing to speak with them. Mercer agreed to meet with Mother Giselle, who was helping refugees in the Hinterlands. The Mother claimed that she had the names of clerics in Val Royeaux who may be swayed to their cause. With enough influence they would hopefully be able to approach one of the groups for help. _That is an awful lot of ‘hopefullies’ and ‘maybes’_. Mercer sighed.

“If we’re done for the evening, I’ll excuse myself. I’ve had a great deal of surprises the last few days, and the best thing now would be to find Luc and get blind drunk.” She straightened from the table and stretched, ignoring the disapproving looks from the others. When they woke up being branded a glowing, murdering heretic they could judge.

“Luc?” The Ambassador looked confused. Mercer clarified, “We’re off duty, no rank. Lucan’s my best friend and shield-brother and I’m sorely in need of a drink with the man.” Cassandra cocked an eyebrow at her “You have an odd idea of ‘surprises’, Herald.”  
“Seeker Pentaghast, if waking up in chains, glowing; being accused of mass murder; using your hand to close holes in the sky that are spitting out demons; finding out that your entire squad is dead; and being mistaken for a religious icon are not surprises to you then you’re made of sterner stuff than I. And please, call me Lieutenant or Mercer.” She bid them good evening and left.

====================================================================================

Mercer found Lucan at the small tavern, wedged into a corner where he could keep an eye out for her. Thankfully not many people were off duty yet so it was relatively quiet; she didn’t think she’d have patience for rowdiness tonight. Lucan greeted her with a bear hug and a mug of ale and she accepted both gratefully. He waited for her to sit and take a drink before talking. “Trev-fuck. Just, _fuck_. What the Void is going on? I mean, a simple fucking caravan job, then BOOM! I thought you were dead. Everyone was dead. No one knew anything about you and then you show up- fucking glowing- with people claiming that you’re Maker-sent.” The dwarf shook his head and downed the last of his ale.

Mercer nodded tiredly, toying with her mug. “I don’t know, Luc. I don’t remember a damned thing between arguing with Lord Whatsisface and waking up in chains.” She drank deeply, setting the mug down firmer than she’d intended. Her hands were shaking. “I didn’t know what had happened to you or the rest of the guys until you found me today. They told me that no one had survived, but I’d hoped….Andraste’s tits, Luc. What the fuck did I do?” Lucan waved over another round. “You didn’t do a fucking thing. _You_ were doing your job and so was everyone else. No one’s to blame except for whatever asshole blew everything to shit.” He scowled, daring her to argue and she scowled back, pissed that he was right. They continued glaring until Mercer cracked, grinning like an idiot. “I missed you, Luc” Lucan rolled his eyes and snorted at her.“Shut the fuck up Trev.” a breath later “I missed you too.” She shook her head. “Ass.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixed it! Should make a little more sense now as far as emphasis and such. =)

Cullen inhaled deeply, letting the smell of woodsmoke and evergreen fill his lungs It washed over him, the quiet soothing him and brushing the last tendrils of sleep from his mind. Early mornings were his favorite, the chill and sunrise made him feel peaceful, the nightmares a little further away. Thanks to the Herald he’d been able to enjoy the last few mornings with almost no guilt, knowing that the Breach was stable for now. 

As if she’d been summoned by his thoughts, the Herald slipped through the gates, exchanging a quiet greeting with the guard and stopping to survey the landing. She spoke to the guard again, nodded, then took off up the path toward the old apothecary’s cabin. Cullen was curious where she was off to so early. She’d been armed and had a pack...no, she didn’t seem like the type to run away and the dwarf wouldn’t have been far behind if she was. Still, maybe he should follow her, if nothing else to make sure that no one harassed her.

He followed at distance, nodding to the recruits and soldiers that were up and about. So many of them were green recruits, farmers and such that had volunteered after the Conclave, but he was grateful for them. They were eager and proud, even if most of them had no idea which way to hold a sword. Thankfully they also had a fair amount of trained soldiers and guardsmen, invaluable for their experience. Cullen was fairly confident that before too long they’d have a respectable number of well trained troops.

He finally spotted the Herald kneeling in a small clearing. She had lit a small candle and seemed to be praying over it, though she still had her bow close at hand. Smart, but why was she praying out here instead of in the Chantry? He stayed back, watching her as she brought her hands up to the back of her neck, fingers digging into the muscle as her voice hitched. She tried to speak again, but it sounded as if no words would come, her breathing too rapid and shallow to let them form. Her hands were shaking as she gripped her neck harder, a choked sob tearing from her throat. Cullen stepped forward, alarm rushing through him at her behavior but stepped on a branch under the snow, breaking it with a loud snap. The Herald grabbed her bow and leapt unsteadily to her feet, eyes wide as she whirled on him, bow held in front of her like a staff.

Cullen held his hands up and advanced no further, concern plain on his face. The Herald drug in a shuddering breath, nodding and dropping the bow as she fell to her knees, eyes squeezed closed. Cullen slowly came to her side and knelt next to her, watching her face closely. “Herald? Are you unwell? Is there anything I can do to help?” She wouldn’t make eye contact, but after a moment managed to speak. “Panic attack. It’ll pass soon….sorry, Commander.” She began worrying at a small pendant around her neck, rubbing it between fingers and thumb as she fought to get her breathing under control. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Herald. But please, is there anything I can do to help?” She rocked back on her heels slightly, eyes now fixed on the still burning candle. Eventually she shook her head, then shrugged, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. “I-I don’t think so, Commander. Thank you.” Her voice was a harsh whisper, unsure as she spoke. Cullen was unwilling to leave her until he knew she was ok, so he tried another tactic. “You came out here to pray?” At her nod he continued, “May I join you?” Her eyes flicked away from the candle momentarily, glancing at him briefly before returning to the flame. She nodded again. He’d heard her struggling through Canticle of Trials 1:1 when he’d found her, so he began with that.

“Maker, my enemies are abundant.  
Many are those who rise up against me.  
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,  
Should they set themselves against me.”

Gradually the Herald’s breathing returned to normal and her hands stopped shaking. She closed her eyes, ending the chant with a deep, shaky sigh. Cullen was silent, not wanting to push or to pry, but he watched her carefully. The necklace was tucked into her shirt and she drug her hand through sweat damp hair. “I apologize, Commander. You probably hadn’t planned on dealing with a stranger’s melt down this morning.” She finally met his eyes, “Nonetheless, thank you.” 

Cullen had certainly been taken aback when he’d found the Herald, but he didn’t want to add to her obvious embarrassment and discomfort. “I’m glad I could be of some assistance, Herald.” She made a face. “Ah, Lieutenant, apologies.” He watched as she bent forward and blew out the candle, debating whether or not to ask about her panic attacks. He finally decided to hazard it; if this were something she struggled with, it might affect her abilities to serve the Inquisition. “Lieutenant Trevelyan, forgive me for prying, but do these attacks trouble you often?” 

“Need to know if I’m a liability, Commander?” She turned to regard him with piercing eyes, watching his response. Lying to the woman would certainly get him nowhere. Neither would antagonizing her, but he got the feeling lying would be the greater sin in her eyes. “Yes, but not just that. If they trouble you often we may be able to find some way to help you to manage them.” She looked at him a moment longer then sighed, shaking her head. “They’re only rarely a problem. It’s honestly been years since I’ve had one. The last few day have been...trying, to say the least.”

Cullen nodded and stood; he could understand that all too well. She accepted the hand he offered and pulled herself up. He was surprised at her height, she was nearly as tall as he was, though a good deal thinner. He had a brief flash of her partially clothed form that he firmly put out of his mind, certain that he was now a very noticeable shade of red. Thankfully the Herald was facing away from him, placing the candle into her pack. “I’m sorry for keeping you Commander. Your company was...unexpected, but appreciated.” She paused a moment. “Were you following me?” Cullen rubbed his neck, suddenly feeling rather awkward. What was the proper protocol for admitting to a religious figure that you’d been following them? 

He sighed. “Yes.” The Herald turned back to him, laughing softly at his admission. “Your honesty does you credit and is appreciated, Commander” Cullen relaxed slightly, chuckling. “I get the feeling that being anything less than honest with you would be ill-advised, Lieutenant.” She looked at him appraisingly and nodded. “I try to be as honest as possible and expect the same in return. Frankly, I was rubbish as a noble.” She smiled ruefully. “I find that rather comforting, actually.” Maker knows the world had more than enough nobles that were good at it. He’d dealt with enough of them to last a lifetime. 

The Herald shouldered her pack and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Well, Commander, I was going to wander and explore a bit. Still need to follow me?” She jerked her head slightly toward where she was intending to go. “I’m afraid not, Lieutenant. I mean, unless you require assistance with something.” Maker’s breath, ‘I’m afraid not’? as if he were stalking her. He shook his head “The recruits should be up and ready for drills by now and I have reports that need dealt with.” Did she look..amused at him? Well, that was better than disgusted, he supposed. “I understand that all too well, Commander. If Sergent Velg or myself can be of assistance with anything just let me know. It’s what we’re here for, after all.”  
“I’ll certainly take that into consideration, though I’m sure you’ve more important things to attend.” She shrugged. “Once we’re done with the gear I’m just waiting on going where I’m sent. I may as well help out where I’m able or I’ll go mad sitting around. According to Lucan I’m mad enough as is, we may not want to risk it.” Cullen felt himself returning the grin she gave him. “Well, we wouldn’t want that. When you’ve returned from the Hinterlands we’ll see what we can do.”  
“My sanity, as well as Lucan’s. thank you.” She turned and gave a short wave as she left. “I’ll let you get to your recruits and reports then. Good day Commander.” He fought the urge to watch her a moment longer and instead returned to the training area where he was subjected to Rylen demanding to know why, exactly, he was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a few days, I had these all typed up already. =D


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blergh.

Sorry for the huge break in chapters. I've been dealing with some hellacious morning sickness, so I've mostly been sleeping to avoid being sick, or being sick. Not very conducive to creativity and writing. As soon as I'm able to focus I'll get the next chapters up!


End file.
